I've Got Your Number (35 page)

“Maybe Sam will know someone who wants to sell them,” I say encouragingly. “Someone with children.”

“Maybe.” David raises his eyes lugubriously from his drink. “Tell me something. Does Sam still blame me for flooding his house?”

“He hasn’t mentioned it,” I say honestly.

“Well, maybe the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked. Bloody Albanian fish tanks.” David looks downcast. “Absolute tat. And the fish weren’t much better. Word of advice, Poppy: Steer clear of fish.”

I have an urge to giggle and bite my lip hard.

“OK.” I nod as seriously as I can. “I’ll remember that.”

He polishes off the last taco chip, exhales noisily, and
looks around the lobby. Uh-oh. He seems to be getting restless. I can’t let him go wandering around.

“So, what was Sam like at college?” I ask, to spin out the conversation a little more.

“Highflier.” David looks a little grouchy. “You know the type. Rowed for the college. Always knew he’d end up doing well. Went off the rails a bit in his second year. Got in a bit of trouble. But that was understandable.”

“How come?” I frown, not following,

“Well, you know.” David shrugs. “After his mum died.”

I freeze, my glass halfway to my lips.
What
did he just say?

“I’m sorry.” I’m trying—not very well—to conceal my shock. “Did you say Sam’s mother died?”

“Didn’t you know?” David seems surprised. “Beginning of the second year. Heart disease, I think it was. She’d not been well, but no one was expecting her to peg it so soon. Sam took it badly, poor bloke. Though I always say to him, you’re welcome to my old lady, anytime you want….”

I’m not listening. My head is buzzing with confusion. He said it was a friend of his. I know he did. I can hear him now:
My friend lost his mother when we were at college. I spent a lot of nights talking with him. Lot of nights … And it never goes away….

“Poppy?” David is waving his hand in front of my face. “You all right?”

“Yes!” I try to smile. “Sorry. I’m just … I thought it was a friend of his who lost his mother. Not Sam himself. I must have got confused. Silly me. Um, do you want another whiskey?”

David doesn’t reply to my offer. He’s silent awhile, then shoots me an appraising look, cradling his empty drink in his hands. His fleshy thumbs are tracing a pattern on the glass, and I watch them, mesmerized.

“You weren’t confused,” he says at last. “Sam didn’t tell you, did he? He said it was a friend.”

I stare at him, taken aback. I’d written this guy off as a boorish moron. But he’s totally nailed it.

“Yes,” I admit at last. “He did. How did you know?”

“He’s private like that, Sam.” David nods. “When it happened—the death—he didn’t tell anyone at college for days. Only his two closest friends.”

“Right.” I hesitate doubtfully. “Is that … you?”

“Me!” David gives a short, rueful laugh. “No, not me. I’m not in the inner sanctum. It’s Tim and Andrew. They’re his right-hand men. All rowed in the same boat together. Know them?”

I shake my head.

“Joined at the hip, even now, those three guys are. Tim’s over at Merrill Lynch; Andrew’s a barrister in some chambers or other. And of course Sam’s pretty close to his brother, Josh,” David adds. “He’s two years older. Used to come and visit. Sorted Sam out when things went wrong for him. Spoke to his tutors. He’s a good guy.”

I didn’t know Sam had a brother either. As I sit there, digesting all this, I feel a bit chastened. I’ve never even heard of Tim or Andrew or Josh. But then, why
would
I have heard of them? They probably text Sam directly. They’re probably in touch like normal people. In private. Not like Willow the Witch and old friends trying to hustle some money.

All this time I’ve thought I could see Sam’s entire life. But it wasn’t his entire life, was it? It was one in-box. And I judged him on it.

He has friends. He has a life. He has a relationship with his family. He has a whole load of stuff I have no idea about. I was an idiot if I thought I’d got to know the whole story. I know a single chapter. That’s all.

I take a swig of wine, numbing the strange wistfulness that suddenly washes over me. I’ll never know all of Sam’s other chapters. He’ll never tell me and I’ll never ask. We’ll part ways and I’ll just have the impression I’ve already got. The version of him that lives in his PA’s in-box.

I wonder what impression he’ll have of me. Oh God. Better not go there.

The thought makes me snort with laughter, and David eyes me curiously.

“Funny girl, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” My phone buzzes and I pull it to me, not caring if I’m rude. It’s telling me I have a voice mail from Magnus.

Magnus?

I missed a call from Magnus?

Abruptly my thoughts swoop away from Sam, away from David and this place, to the rest of my life. Magnus. Wedding. Anonymous text.
Your fiancee has been unfaithful….
Jumbled thoughts pile into my brain all at once, as though they’ve been clamoring at the door. I leap to my feet, pressing
voice mail
, jabbing at the keys, impatient and nervous all at once. Although what am I expecting? A confession? A rebuttal? Why would Magnus have any idea that I received an anonymous message?

“Hey, Pops!” Magnus’s distinctive voice is muffled by a
background thump of music. “Could you call Professor Wilson and remind her I’m away? Thanks, sweets. Number’s on my desk.
Ciao!
Having a great time!”

I listen to it twice over for clues, even though I have no idea what kind of clues I’m hoping to glean.
⁸³
As I ring off, my stomach is churning. I can’t bear it. I don’t
want
this. If I’d never got that text message, I’d be happy now. I’d be looking forward to my wedding and thinking about the honeymoon and practicing my new signature. I’d be
happy
.

I’ve run out of conversational gambits, so I kick off my shoes, draw my feet up onto the bench, and hug my knees morosely. I’m aware that around us, in the bar, the White Globe Consulting employees have started to cluster. I can hear snatches of low, anxious conversation, and I’ve caught the word
memo
a few times. The news must be seeping out. I glance at my watch and feel a clench of alarm. It’s 9:40 p.m. Only twenty minutes till the ITN bulletin.

For the millionth time I wonder what Vicks and Sam are up to. I wish I could help. I wish I could do something. I feel powerless sitting out here—

“OK!” A sharp female voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up to see Willow standing in front of me, glaring down. She’s changed into a halter-neck evening dress, and even her shoulders are twitchy. “I’m going to ask you this straight, and I hope you’ll answer it straight. No games. No playing around. No little tricks.”

She’s practically spitting the words at me. Honestly. What little tricks am I supposed to have played?

“Hello,” I say politely.

The trouble is, I can’t see this woman without remembering
all her screwy capital-letter emails. It’s as though they’re emblazoned on her face.

“Who
are
you?” she bristles at me. “Just tell me that. Who
are
you? And if you won’t tell me, then believe me—”

“I’m Poppy,” I interrupt.

” ‘Poppy.’ ” She sounds deeply suspicious, as though Poppy must be my invented escort-agency name.

“Have you met David?” I add politely. “He’s an old university friend of Sam’s.”

“Oh.” At these words I can see interest flash across her features. “Hello, David, I’m Willow.” Her gaze swivels to focus on him, and I swear I feel a cooling on my face.

“Charmed, Willow. Friend of Sam’s, are you?”

“I’m Willow.” She says it with slightly more emphasis.

“Nice name.” He nods.

“I’m Willow.
Willow
.” There’s an edge to her voice now. “Sam must have mentioned me.
Willow
.”

David wrinkles his brow thoughtfully. “Don’t think so.”

“But …” She looks as though she’s going to expire with outrage. “I’m
with
him.”

“Not right now you’re not, are you?” says David jovially—then shoots me a tiny wink.

I’m actually warming to this David. Once you get past the bad shirt and the dodgy investments, he’s OK.

Willow looks incandescent. “This is just … The world is going insane,” she says, almost to herself. “You don’t know me, but you know
her
?” She jerks a thumb at me.

“I assumed she was Sam’s special lady,” says David innocently.

“Her?
You?
”

Willow’s eyeing me up and down in a disbelieving, supercilious sort of way that nettles me.

“Why not me?” I say robustly. “Why shouldn’t he be with me?”

Willow says nothing for a moment, just blinks very fast. “So that’s it. He’s two-timing me,” she murmurs at last, her voice throbbing with intensity. “The truth finally comes out. I should have known it. It explains … a lot.” She exhales sharply, her fingers raking through her hair. “So where do we go now?” She addresses some unknown audience. “Where the
fuck
do we go now?”

She’s a total fruit loop. I want to burst out laughing. Where does she think she is, acting in her own private stage play? Who does she think is impressed by her performance?

And she’s missed a crucial fact. How can Sam be two-timing her if
she’s not his girlfriend
?

On the other hand, as much as I’m enjoying winding her up, I don’t want to spread false rumors.

“I didn’t say I
was
with him,” I clarify. “I said, ‘Why shouldn’t he be with me?’ Are you Sam’s girlfriend, then?”

Willow flinches but
doesn’t
answer, I notice.

“Who the hell
are
you?” She rounds on me again. “You appear in my life, I have no idea who you are or where you came from….”

She’s playing to the gallery again. I wonder if she went to drama school and got chucked out for being too melodramatic.
⁸⁴

“It’s … complicated.”

The word
complicated
seems to inflame Willow even more.

“Oh, ‘complicated.’ ” She makes little jabby quote gestures. ” ‘Complicated.’ Wait a minute.” Her eyes suddenly
narrow to disbelieving slits as she surveys my outfit. “Is that Sam’s shirt?”

Ah. A-ha-ha. She’s
really
not going to like that. Maybe I won’t answer.

“Is that Sam’s shirt? Tell me right now!” Her voice is so hectoring and abrasive, I flinch. “Are you wearing Sam’s shirt? Tell me! Is that his shirt? Answer me!”

“Mind your own Brazilian!” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. Oops.

OK. The trick when you’ve said something embarrassing by mistake is not to overreact. Instead, keep your chin up and pretend nothing happened. Maybe Willow didn’t even notice what I said. I’m sure she didn’t notice. Of course she didn’t.

I dart a surreptitious look at her, and her eyes have widened so much, I think her eyeballs might pop out. All right, so she
did
notice. And from David’s gleeful expression, it’s clear he did too.

“I mean … business,” I amend, clearing my throat. “Business.”

Over David’s shoulder I suddenly see Vicks. She’s striding through the clusters of White Globe Consulting employees, and her grim expression makes my stomach turn over. I glance at my watch. Quarter to ten.

“Vicks!” Willow has noticed her too. She blocks Vicks’s way, her arms folded imperiously. “Where’s Sam? Someone said he was with you.”

“Excuse me, Willow.” Vicks tries to get past.

“Just tell me where Sam is!”

“I have no idea, Willow!” Vicks snaps. “Can you get out of my way? I need to speak to Poppy.”

“
Poppy?
You need to speak to
Poppy
?” Willow looks
as if she’s going to explode with frustration. “Who
is
this fucking Poppy?”

I almost feel sorry for Willow. Completely ignoring her, Vicks comes round to my seat, bends down low, and mutters, “Do you know where Sam is?”

“No.” I look at her in alarm. “What’s happened?”

“Has he texted you? Anything?”

“No!” I double-check my phone. “Nothing. I thought he was with you.”

“He was.” Vicks does her eye-rubbing thing with the heels of her hands, and I resist the temptation to grab her wrists.

“What happened?” I lower my voice further. “Please, Vicks. I’ll be discreet. I swear.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Vicks nods. “OK. We ran out of time. I guess you could say Sam lost.”

I feel a plunge of disappointment. After all that.

“What did Sam say?”

“Not a lot. He stormed out.”

“What will happen to Sir Nicholas?” I speak as quietly as I can.

Vicks doesn’t reply, but her head turns away as though she wants to escape that particular thought.

“I have to go,” she says abruptly. “Let me know if you hear from Sam. Please.”

“OK.”

I wait as Vicks walks away, then casually raise my head. Sure enough, Willow is fixated on me, like a cobra.

“So,” she says.

“So.” I smile back pleasantly, just as Willow’s eyes land on my left hand. Her mouth opens. For an instant she seems incapable of speech.

“Who gave you that ring?” she utters at last.

What bloody business is it of hers?

“A girl called Lucinda,” I say, to wind her up. “I’d lost it, you see. She gave it back.”

Willow draws breath and I swear she’s about to launch her fangs into me, when Vicks’s voice comes blasting through the PA system at top volume.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the party, but I have an important announcement to make. All employees of White Globe Consulting, please make your way back into the main conference hall immediately. That’s back into the main conference hall,
immediately
. Thank you.”

There’s an outbreak of chatter around us, and all the clusters of people start moving toward the double doors, some quickly refilling their glasses.